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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25524505">a dwindling mercurial high</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdsofrobbie/pseuds/birdsofrobbie'>birdsofrobbie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>folklore/evermore inspired harlivy [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020), DCU, Harley Quinn (Comics), Poison Ivy (Comics)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU, Angst, But it ends happy, Cheating, F/F, Oneshot, Pining, REALLY DESCRIPTIVE, Smutty, based off folklore, folklore taylor swift, i had to add in a music analogy, illicit affairs, no powers, this might be bad whoops, this might make you sad sorry, wlw</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 07:33:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,730</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25524505</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdsofrobbie/pseuds/birdsofrobbie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>(based off illicit affairs from folklore)</p><p>A journey through Harleen and Pamela's illicit affairs.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Joker/Harley Quinn, Pamela Isley/Harleen Quinzel, Poison Ivy/Harley Quinn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>folklore/evermore inspired harlivy [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1857364</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>113</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>a dwindling mercurial high</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i tried to proof read this as best as i could :/</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Their bodies were sticky and the room was humid. Maybe steam was rising off their bodies, maybe their inner fires were raging and unashamed. They couldn’t care less, delving into each other with such vigour, tasting each other like a starved bear chasing leaking honey. The sheets were twisted and forgotten on the floor, light from the outside street lamp filtered through the hotel window, casting itself on their bodies like a beautiful, pale blanket. </p><p>Her moans felt right against her skin, Harleen’s mouth tasting the salty skin of Pamela’s neck while she moved against her. The culmination of their cries was something that only could be described as a romantic period symphony, moving around the room bashfully, not really knowing where they were going but enjoying their dance. Harleen’s hands were aching from gripping the sheets, and her body ached in a different way. It was running towards Pam in every single way, begging to be taken whole and taken apart by the redhead. </p><p>Even when they fell towards the bed in an orgasmic haze, they seemed to float down. While they held each other, Harleen moved a tuft of burning hair from Pamela’s sweating forehead. All Pam could do was smile and who could blame her. Harleen Quinzel was a force of nature and Pamela loved nature. They had only kissed once in the club they were dancing in before they ran away to the hotel room to seek solace in each other’s arms. Their first time was romanticised to a point where poets and writers would roll their eyes at their cliches. </p><p>It was born from one single glace and although it was messy, fiery and needy, they both felt a deeper bloom inside themselves. If they could just stay in this moment, forever. In that hotel room, sweaty and panting. </p><p>Pamela flashed her a white smile, kissing her once again, licking off the stray honey from her lips. Harleen leant in, taking her in as she could. When she pulled away, it was already too late. Her mind was already a swirling mess of regret. </p><p>“This was a mistake. I’m in-” </p><p>“Harls…” </p><p>So swiftly did Harleen float away, like a white ghost in the faux moonlight. </p><p>“He can’t know. This was a mistake, Pam. Never again.” she commanded, bringing Pam back to Earth as she scrambled to put her clothes back on. A rude awakening.</p><p>“Of course.” She had to agree. Harleen loved her Puddin’. Her Jay. She was his. Pam was nobody. </p><p>***<br/>
The second time was desperate, rough and bled into small whispers of <i> ‘I need you,’ </i>  and <i> ‘Yes. This. This is it.’</i> The first movement of the symphony.</p><p>Harleen had called Pamela over to her apartment when Jay was away on a business trip. The blonde was left alone to her bubbling thoughts and she texted Pam before she could even register what she was doing. </p><p>Harl moved first, her lips meeting the sweet plumpness of Pamela. Honey melted into their lips, tasting so sweet and dripping down from their mouths to their chests. Suddenly it was blur of red and blonde hair and pyjama pants. The second movement</p><p>Harleen’s bareback met the cold wall, right next to a framed picture of her paramour. They were smiling, happily enjoying a picnic on a sweet day. Her hand came up to the wall to find balance and stability as Pam devoured her, causing the picture to fall and glass to shatter. </p><p>A million little pieces scattering on the floor, cutting the air, unaware of the passionate connection that caused its downfall. </p><p>
  <i> “Oh, Pam.” </i>
</p><p>The symphony slowly moved into the third, faster and faster. Intense as the day it was born, thumping against the wall. God, it felt good, it felt so good that if Harleen could freeze time and bottle the feeling of Pamela’s hands and mouth on her, she would. The things she would do if she could pour the feeling over her anytime she needed it, shower with it and rub it into her skin. The simple euphoria could cure even the most violent of wounds. </p><p><i> “Oh fuck- yes… yes. Oh, Pammy…” </i> </p><p>As the symphony closed, she swore that this would never happen again. Never again will she call upon Pamela for a forbidden fix. It had to be the last time. For Jay. </p><p>“I’m sorry.” </p><p>Harleen felt terrible when she sent Pam away that night, catching the brief dagger of pain running through the green eyes. <i> Never again. </i></p><p>***</p><p><i> A dwindling, mercurial high.</i> That’s the name of the symphony they would usually perform, in secrecy. Harleen had told herself a million little lies, to keep herself intact while she saw Pam. The last time would always never be enough. </p><p>That night, he asked her to marry him. And she said yes. She loved him. Whatever it was about Pam that drew her in every time was starting to grow bigger. So much so that it began to leak into her thoughts when she was with him. When she was riding him, moaning and writhing, every time she closed her eyes she saw red hair and green eyes. It was easier to use Pam’s magnetism so she could love him. But Harleen would only admit in the deepest corner of her subconsciousness that she preferred the symphony of Pamela and herself. </p><p>*** </p><p>“Congratulations.” Pam had obviously noticed the ring and was obviously pretending it didn’t kill her as much as it did. Keeping her composure was of the utmost importance as she smiled happily to the blonde. She noticed that Harleen was wearing a different perfume. One that she recalled being one of Jay’s favourite scents. It assaulted her nostrils. </p><p>“Thank you…” Harleen set down the steaming mug of hot cocoa. She was readying herself for the inevitable.</p><p>“Pamela… we can’t do this anymore… I’m engaged and I love him.” </p><p>Pamela knew. She knew that Jay loved her enough to propose and she loved him enough to say yes. They were enough for each other and she was just… nobody. </p><p>“Of course.” </p><p>In the folds of her mind, she closed the record player, the radio, uninstalled the music apps. The hot cocoa poured down her throat and extinguished the fire inside of her. The same person who lit it would also be its murderer. </p><p>A few minutes later into the silence Harleen spoke up again, “I would like you to be there.” </p><p>Pamela chuckled, shaking her head, “look at this god damn mess, Harl.” </p><p>Harleen sunk slightly, “I know… but I would really love it if you were there. You’re my friend.” </p><p>Curse that soft part that Harley instilled in Pamela, “you know damn well, I’d ruin myself for you.” It was a small sentence and both recognised the underlying meaning that carried it. </p><p>They sipped their cocoa in silence, basking in the painful reality of illicitness. </p><p>***</p><p>Harleen loved stories, and she made sure to tell one in every way at their wedding. Everything about it was pure and lovely and right. With just a touch of childlike wonder and flair. Everything was so different from what she had with Harleen. This was pure and golden, wrapped with a pretty white and light pink bow. What they had was scorching and forbidden, shameful even. </p><p>Jay, with his hair groomed back and his features chiselled, held her hand as they stared into each other. His Harleen. Her Jay.</p><p> Harleen had never looked happier and grounded, her wild hair was tamed back and her tattoos were covered. Pity… Pamela loved to trace her fingers over them. </p><p>It was almost as if Pam wasn’t there at all, just merely observing as an omniscient being. Everything had gone smoothly, with rare and quickly shushed away hiccups. She felt nothing. She was so wrapped up at the moment that it was almost impossible to feel. That was until the groom kissed the bride. He dipped her as his lips touched hers and the spectators shot up in praise and celebration. </p><p>Harleen, only for a second that in retrospect felt like an eternity, caught a glimpse of Pamela in the crowd. Only for a second did Pam notice a flicker in the animated blue. After that, it was a swarm of congratulations, cheers, flowers, dancing and smiles. </p><p>It would be the last time she would see Harleen. This last time was more than enough.</p><p>*** </p><p><i> Three Years Later </i> </p><p>Pam missed the symphonies and Harleen’s presence for a while, much longer than she had anticipated. Yet she moved. Briskly, not allowing for any distraction. </p><p>She moved on, up and away. Out of Gotham, settling in Metropolis after a year. She rarely thought of Harleen and their endeavours. Occasionally, usually under the guiding hand of chardonnay, she would check Harleen’s Facebook and Instagram pages. All smiles, most of the posts with Jay, some featuring a scrappy, black mutt.  </p><p>After Harleen, Pamela shrivelled back into herself, learning from the hurt. Learning that some symphonies hurt to compose and are best left untouched. She made acquaintances but never allowed anyone to dive too deep into her. She didn’t drink hot cocoa anymore. </p><p> </p><p>It was a Wednesday night, one that was following after a day of exhaustion at the lab she worked at. She scrubbed off the day from her body, staying just a little longer in the shower to hopefully scorch herself enough. </p><p>As she got out, she made sure to soothe her body with sweet-smelling lotions and dry her hair as she put on her light green robe. </p><p>Then a knock came. It was soft at first, unsure of itself and Pam wondered if it was even real. Her suspicions were confirmed after another round of knocks followed, this time a tiny bit more frantic.</p><p>Glancing at the clock, that read 11:34 pm, she made her way to her apartment door. When she raised herself slightly to peer through the peephole she nearly blacked out. She swung it open immediately. </p><p>“Hiya’, Red.” </p><p>There she was, bleeding and bruised, standing at Pam’s doorstep. Her left eye was swollen and darker. It didn’t make sense at all. Not until Pam caught glimpse of the duffel bag in Harley’s hand. </p><p>Here she was, running towards Pam in every single way.</p><p>“Come inside.” </p><p>The beginning of a new sympathy, the first movement. More tame, gentle and restorative than the first one but certainly not less fiery and intense.</p>
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